


The First Time

by thinkpink20



Category: House M.D.
Genre: F/M, First Time, M/M, Multi, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-27
Updated: 2012-02-27
Packaged: 2017-10-31 19:59:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/347821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thinkpink20/pseuds/thinkpink20
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>House, of course, suggests it. Wilson doesn't mind in the least.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The First Time

Wilson is drunk when he first seriously thinks of it. Well, maybe it's not the first time _ever,_ but hazy moments in the shower or late at night when he really can't sleep don't count.

He is lying on House's couch listening to House snoring loudly from the bedroom and he imagines, just briefly, what it would be like to have that clever, acerbic mouth on the back of his neck as he slowly, carefully fucks the supple body in front of him.

It sends a shiver of want down into the base of his stomach, ignoring how cold and woozy from drink he is.

Wilson suspects House would like it too; surely it would appeal to that throbbing big ego of his, having two people in bed with him? Two people - the _only_ two people - that he ever voluntarily spends time with. He would be able to convince himself that he was some sort of sexual superman and maybe that would keep him quiet long enough to let Wilson kiss him; to let Wilson watch whilst Cuddy kept him quiet in entirely different ways with her mouth.

The second time Wilson seriously thinks about it, he is completely sober. They are all standing around a lightbox talking about someone's spleen and it suddenly strikes him that it really could work; House has the rationality to ensure it never gets too emotionally over-complicated, Cuddy has the gentility to ensure that it never gets too animalistic and he has... well, he's not too sure _what_ he has. Other than this strong desire to have sex with his best friend and his boss. Which is horribly wrong and probably enough to get him in therapy if he ever discloses it to the outside world. But just like you can't always get what you want, you can't always chose _what_ you want, either, and so he finds himself carefully watching the way Cuddy's hand brushes against House's as she hands him the file they're currently working on and the way House's eyes flicker down to her ass as she turns and saunters out of the door.

"What?" House says, when he realises he's been caught looking. "Jealous, Jimmy?" he asks, then gives an over-exaggerated wink.

Wilson simply smiles.

\-----------------------------------------------

The third time Wilson _really_ considers it is when they're all at a birthday bash for the hospital. Princeton Plainsboro has officially been giving care for twenty five long years and House is only in attendance because the press want pictures of the great doctor, and Cuddy has promised House two weeks off clinic duty if he turns up and smiles nicely once or twice.

"Do you ever recall," House says, appearing as though from nowhere and stealing the drink Wilson has just bought for himself, "I once told you I have a red light that goes on every time you have an impure thought?"

Wilson rolls his eyes. "Where's this going, House?"

"This is going to our lumpy, bumpy Dean of Medicine; you've been giving her the glad eye all night."

Wilson stops. "The _glad_ eye?"

House shrugs. "I could have said you've been mentally burying yourself in her cleavage all night, but this is a classy party; I thought I'd better clean it up a little."

"You think I have feelings for Cuddy?"

"Feelings, no. Dark, wanton desires? Yes."

Wilson smiles. "You think you know everything, don't you, House?"

This makes him frown, lean a little more heavily on the cane as he regards Wilson more closely. Usually Wilson will say something stupid or move away; instead he lets House try to figure him out through staring alone and almost hopes that he divines it out of thin air in the same way he has a habit of doing with his patients. 

Before House has a chance to speak, Wilson removes the glass of bourbon from House's fingers that was originally his (letting their skin meet longer than is strictly necessary) and takes a careful, fortifying mouthful. He sees House watch him swallow, feels the eyes on his neck as his Adam's apple bobs and hopes that his actions are giving the correct impression here. "Who says I'm _just_ thinking about Cuddy, House?"

And then he gives the (empty) glass back and walks away.

Leaving the idea in House's mind too.

\----------------------------------

The fourth time Wilson seriously considers it, he has House's breath ghosting over the back of his neck and the X-ray in front of him shimmers slightly, shifting out of focus.

"We think it could be paraneoplastic syndrome," Foreman says from somewhere vaguely off to his left. 

"We need a biopsy to confirm," Thirteen chirps on, "We need to find if there's a mass and - "

Wilson tunes out. House's hand is now actually brushing against the back of his thigh, pressing against tense muscle. A flush of clinging warmth spreads over the top of his back, over his shoulder blades and down.

"Leave it with me," he says, lowering the X-ray away from the window. When he turns and looks at the team, he sees Foreman looking at him oddly as though he's either blushing visibly or he cut off his fragile, dying girlfriend in her diagnostic tracks. "I've got it covered," he says, hoping that this will shift the four of them out of the room, but it takes a final nod from House for them to go. 

When the door is shut, Wilson looks up.

House has been shadowing him ever since the party; has been not only stealing his food but also eating it in a suggestive manner in front of him and standing far too close for comfort in the elevator or during a consult. Like today. Wilson half wishes he hadn't said anything, half wishes House would just push him up against the nearest flat surface and stop _looking_ at him like that.

"Are you going to talk to Cuddy, or shall I?"

Wilson suspects his eyebrows do a comedy jump. _"What?!"_

"Well, we could do this without her, but that would sort of destroy the threesome element of the whole thing."

House is giving him that searching, analytic look again, the one he gave him at the party and Wilson ends up shifting around his desk to get away from it.

"I never said - "

"You're going to _deny_ it now?"

"There's nothing to deny; I never technically _said_ anything."

"You intoned," House says, pointing a finger and limping towards the desk. "You want it but you're too afraid to admit it."

"Want what, exactly?" Wilson challenges. Maybe if House actually says it out loud it will show them both how stupid it sounds and things will go back to normal.

"Me. And Cuddy. Because you're a _naughty_ little oncologist."

And House is smirking, but not in a ha-ha-this-is-funny sort of way, more in an I-know-you-better-than-anyone-and-it-scares-you sort of say. Which is true. And the fact that House has actually _said_ it doesn't make it sound any more stupid than previously, it just sounds more _real._

"What if she hits me with her briefcase?" Wilson asks. This makes House smirk even more.

"I think I'd enjoy that as much as the sex."

"Why does it have to be me that asks her, why can't it be you?"

"Because I make lewd suggestions all the time; she'd think it was a joke."

Wilson has to admit that's true. However, the idea of walking into Cuddy's office with House following in his wake and bringing up the subject of a threesome makes the hairs stand up on his neck. And not in a good way.

"And if she says no?"

House stares and him - _really_ stares at him - for a long moment. "Then I take you back to my place and fuck you senseless into the mattress."

Wilson understands the principle; get him so turned on that pure arousal forces him down to Cuddy's office, but this approach also has the side effect of making him so hard he feels like he can't move.

"How do I know you'll pay up on that promise?"

House smirks. "Want a small down-payment?"

Wilson can barely nod, feels himself clutching the edge of his desk and when he realises that his knuckles are white, lets go. House is moving around the desk but Wilson isn't _really_ aware of anything until House is turning him with a surprisingly gentle hand on his shoulder and then Wilson shuts his eyes, either unwilling or unable to believe this is real.

Then there is a faint brush of stubble against Wilson's chin and something surges inside him (probably want, desire - knowing him it might even be desperation) and his hands go up to House's upper arms, clinging on a little bit too tightly as they kiss. House is more controlled, is trying to slow things down from Wilson's frantic pace (and Wilson had never imagined that, that House would be the restrained one when it came to sex) before eventually pulling away to allow Wilson some air.

He suspects that letting House get him worked up probably wasn't the _best_ thing to do. 

"Now?" he says. House is smiling slightly (that un-nerves him, it's like a crocodile smiling - it suggests something bad is going to happen to you) and checks his watch.

"Yeah, she should be getting ready to go home."

In the lift it feels like Wilson can feel all of his nerve endings physically _turning_ towards House. Whilst it's thoroughly distracting him, it only seems to be _amusing_ House, who stands rather too close when a group of five or six med students crowd in on the second floor. "Alright there, Doctor Wilson?" he asks, sounding all too smug.

"Piss off, House."

The med students glance at one another in a rather scandalised way and House only seems to preen even more.

In the lobby, most of the desk staff seem to have gone home for the day; clinic is suffering a quiet patch and most of the blinds are shut in Cuddy's office. The general hush doesn't help, but a prod in the ass cheek from House's cane gets him moving. "Come on, solider, no giving up now - forward into Stalingrad!"

Wilson stops just outside Cuddy's door and turns to look at him. "She's not the Red Army, House."

"No, but your sex life has currently been going through the equivalent of a Russian winter; now stop stalling."

Wilson sighs, pulls all his courage up from the souls of his feet and knocks on the door. Usually he knocks and then just ploughs in, but this time he waits.

"Come!"

House is suddenly right there behind Wilson, pressed against his back and leaving a wet kiss mark on his neck. "Now _there's_ an offer we can't refuse," he says, and nudges Wilson forward.

Cuddy is putting files and an organiser into her briefcase. "Oh God," she says, when she sees them. "Is your patient dead? Do I need to start saving to buy our lawyer a new car?"

When neither of them speak, she stops what she's doing and looks up. Wilson seems to find himself fixated on the fact that her skirt is clinging really tightly today; that the curve of her breasts look soft and kissable through the silk of her shirt.

"What?" And when they don't answer she says, "House?" Even though Wilson is standing a few paces in front of House and is the one with his mouth open, ready to speak.

"Wilson has something he wants to say to you," House says. "He's just a little nervous."

Cuddy frowns, that deeply distrusting frown that practically says, 'What the hell have you done now?' It's a look usually directed at House, and Wilson realises that if he doesn't speak _now,_ he'll never speak at all.

"We wondered if you wanted to come out for dinner."

Behind him, he hears the quietest of tutting sounds from House.

"That's it? Dinner?" She was clearly expecting a nuclear holocaust.

"Yeah, I - well, I thought it would be nice if we had something to eat. It's been a while since we went out for a meal."

If she distrusts that, she doesn't seem to show it too obviously. "Yeah," Cuddy says. "Sounds good."

\-----------------------------

When she goes to the restroom, House turns to Wilson and raises his eyebrows. "A _meal?_ I hope you realise _you're_ paying for this."

"Oh, so just the same as every other time we go out, then?" Wilson sighs. "I could hardly just say, 'how d'you feel about a threesome,' could I?" He lowers his voice to a furtive whisper when he says 'threesome' but still feels like the entire restaurant heard him.

"Well top up her glass quickly before she gets back, we need her drunk."

Wilson flinches. "Shall I get some roofies, too?"

"Stop being sarcastic," House says, reaching for the wine and pouring Cuddy out a liberal dose. "It doesn't suit you."

"And wearing pink shirts doesn't suit you, but do you hear me complaining?"

House smiles. "Why Jimmy, you wound me!"

Wilson has time for a swift kick to House's (good) leg under the table before Cuddy returns. "What are we having?" she asks, picking up a menu.

"Sex?" House offers. Thankfully, Wilson has a bad coughing fit at that very moment and Cuddy is too busy banging him on the back to notice House laughing.

As the night wears on they all become mildly drunk; House less so than everyone else because Wilson suspects he spends so much time drinking by himself that his tolerance level is the same as your average New Jersey homeless person. As is usually the case when Cuddy finds House being less cutting than usual, she lets her guard down slightly and the flirting begins; comments batted back and forth across the table and now that House knows something could really be on the cards here, he gives out some of his best lines, causing Cuddy to blush more than once. 

It's fascinating for Wilson to watch really, the way she lets him play with her like a mouse bowing down to a cat, secretly enjoying the tug and push of play. Her cheeks are naturally flushed from the wine and when House says something particularly suggestive she looks up at Wilson from under lowered lashes and smiles, wetting her lips with what can only be unconscious desire, Wilson thinks. He watches her tuck a lock of fallen hair behind her ear and when he glances briefly at House, the open flush of desire he sees in his eyes causes Wilson's stomach to flip. Even more so when those eyes sense him watching and turn on him before winking once, carefully. 

"Yeah well," Cuddy says, as the result of some careless comment by House, "You guys have no idea how tough it is, being Dean of Medicine."

"Yeah, wearing all of those tight, low cut tops in order to get helpless doctors to do anything you want must be really tough."

She laughs. "Since when have you ever done _anything_ I wanted, House?"

Wilson is bubbling, waiting for his answer, wondering in what wonderful ways he will surprise them all with his downright sexual suggestion next. Wilson thought _he_ was good at flirting, three marriages and countless affairs later but House - well, if Wilson thought he had a string of panty peelers at his beck and call, that was nothing to what House can produce when he really turns on the charm. And when he knows he has a receptive audience. 

"I could do _anything_ you want me to," House replies, giving her that deep stare he has; the kind that is so intense you sort of want to look away from but really can't bring yourself to. "In fact between us, I think Wilson and I could give you _everything_ you want."

And when he looks up to Wilson for confirmation, House actually has a note of vulnerability in his eyes that Wilson never thought he'd let anyone see but him.

He knows now that it's up to him at this point; they make a pretty good team but there's only so far House will go - actually offering the question means that it's him opening up to a 'no', and that's something House could never risk. Wilson, however, who would never say no to him, will risk it on his behalf.

"What d'you think?"

He addresses the question to Cuddy, looks her straight in the eyes as he says it and tries his best to convey just how serious he's being. She gets it - she must get it because her face immediately loses that drunken, doe-eyed look she's been sporting. Suddenly she's the serious career woman again, considering a suggestion that can either make her or break her.

Wilson wishes it was less serious than this for all of them; wishes that they all had less to lose. But then if they had less to lose, this wouldn't be worth doing. 

She doesn't need to say, 'Are you being serious?' or 'Are you really suggesting sex here?' because all of that is pretty much laid out on the table - has been from the second they walked into her office earlier really and Wilson gets the feeling this has all clicked into place for her. Cuddy is an immensely perceptive woman and Wilson knows that her answer - when it comes - will be both considered and final. If she says no, he doesn't know where they'll go from here (he and House to House's bedroom of course, and that thought causes a warm, heavy feeling to settle in the pit of his stomach) and really this is a rather amazing risk because they could both lose their jobs, sexually harassing the boss like this. If she says no, a thousand worms will spill from a thousand cans and Wilson hopes his belief that his friendship with House can withstand almost anything is true.

When she finally speaks, she has a note of firm decision in her voice; she won't go back when she's decided on something and Wilson is suddenly glad of her strength of character. "Shall we go back to my place?"

Wilson has barely had time to breathe a sigh of relief (and fear) before House is standing up. "You're getting the cheque, Wilson."

He laughs - can't help it, thinks it's probably the relief and the unbearable sexual tension - "Sure. I'll follow you out to the car."

\------------------------

After he pays for the meal (generous tip) he goes to the bathroom and stands in front of the mirror, checking he doesn't have spaghetti on his face or anything. Wilson washes his hands twice, in case he doesn't get a chance to do it when he gets to Cuddy's place and straightens his tie. He is suddenly uncomfortable about his lemon coloured choice of shorts but there isn't much he can do about it now and so makes his way (shaking slightly, very imperceptibly) out through the normalcy of the restaurant and into the parking lot.

Pressed against his car, House is kissing Cuddy.

"Starting without me?" he asks. He is too turned on to be jealous, too eager to see more.

Before House pulls away from the kiss, Wilson notes with satisfaction - and arousal - the way House is pressed into the curves of Cuddy's body, the firm way he is gripping her waist, palm flat into the curve of her back. Her suit jacket looks crumpled from the contact and her mouth is now as flushed and red as her cheeks were earlier. 

House's eyes, Wilson notes, have gone very, very dark.

"You want to drive or shall I?"

Wilson can't help but feel its some alpha male question about dominance and that there are many levels to the 'driving' thing, but his mind is too full of potent images to start analysing that now. "You can," he says, knowing that sitting in the back hurts House's leg.

Wilson throws him the keys, satisfied with the deft way House catches them.

The drive to Cuddy's place seems to take twice as long as normal even though every set of lights is green and House is driving at speeds that could be described as 'distressing'. In the rear-view, Wilson keeps catching House's eye and that only seems to make the waiting more difficult, stepping up another notch when Cuddy turns around from the passenger seat and smiles at him, her usual mix of warmth and friendship with a layer of promise sprinkled over the top. Her skirt, he can see from the back seat, has ridden a little high and something about the exposed skin of her thigh is making his entire spine tingle - Wilson almost asks House to drive faster, but doesn't want to break the silence if no one else is doing it.

They pull up to Cuddy's place and almost make it to the door before Wilson lets himself touch her, just a light touch to the small of her back to guide her on the path but it's just enough, for now, and she lets him hold her briefcase open whilst she digs inside for her keys.

At the back of the queue for the front door, House is banging his cane impatiently on the floor. "That's not annoying at all," she says to him, the edge of a smile at the corners of her mouth.

"Annoying? House?" Wilson fakes incredulity. "I think you must have him mixed up with someone else."

At this, she laughs out loud. Her eyes sparkle and Wilson _really_ wants to kiss her; makes himself wait until they're inside. House, never so patient, has moved up behind Wilson and is practically growling. "Can we get a move on, here?"

Finally she unlocks the door and as soon as Wilson is over the threshold, he is leaving her briefcase just inside the living room and catching Cuddy long enough to kiss her mouth, edging her back against the wall of the passageway and unable to stop an approving noise escaping the back of his throat when she bites down lightly on his bottom lip. In her impatience to get her jacket off she ends up getting slightly tangled and he helps her, pulling the thing from her shoulders until her arms are bare and the silk of her shirt is sliding underneath his hands.

When Wilson breaks the kiss, wondering where House is, he finds that they're merely being watched. Leaning back against the door so that his weight is off his right leg, House has removed his coat and actually managed to hang it up; he seems to be enjoying his voyeurism, Wilson notices, if the smile is anything to go by and the possession with which he is looking at Wilson means anything. 

They're too busy with their staring contest to realise for a second when Cuddy breaks the silence. "House?" she says, and Wilson notices - in a slightly surprised sort of way - the _need_ in her voice. He has to remind himself to keep breathing.

When House joins them he immediately goes in for her neck, bending a little because of the height difference and moving her hair back, over her shoulder. It's oddly tender, Wilson thinks, but the noise that she makes when House kisses her dispels any notion that this is going to be like something from a Harlequin novel. 

Cuddy swears - a word Wilson has never heard her say before and he almost laughs - and he moves back in to kiss her. The image of how they must look shimmers into his mind's eye and that makes him kiss her harder, aware of House now pressing into the mould of their joined bodies. He's rubbing against Wilson's hip and the thought of him, of his stubble on her pure, white neck makes Wilson pull away from her mouth. 

"House," he says, and hopes he sounds less needy than Cuddy did a few moments ago. It does the trick though, because House gives up with her neck and moves on to Wilson, kissing him with a lot less restraint that he did in Wilson's office earlier. Hands that had previously been fumbling with the buttons on Cuddy's shirt are now on Wilson's waist, dragging him nearer and then slipping upwards, into the hair at the back of his neck, causing him to shiver. House's mouth is wet and it isn't anything like kissing Cuddy, it's more sloppy and uncoordinated but Wilson likes it just as much; he keeps feeling himself falling further into this slightly bottomless pit of arousal every time someone touches him, and if he's being honest he doesn't quite know whose hand that is on his chest. But it doesn't matter, because Cuddy is moaning into the silence of the hallway and when Wilson breaks his kiss with House long enough he sees why; House is cupping her breast and rubbing a lazy thumb over her nipple. 

"Don't stop," she says, a little breathlessly and as House has made no effort to stop touching her he assumes she must mean he and House kissing each other. Wilson makes a show of pulling House to him again and sloppily fucking House's mouth with his tongue and Cuddy moans louder, obviously enjoying the show.

As much as he is enjoying this messy press of bodies in the hallway, Wilson is aware at the back of his mind that pretty soon House is going to need to lie down, or sit down at least. Reluctantly he pulls away from House's kiss and glances at Cuddy. "Bed?"

She nods and he can visibly see her trying to restore some modicum of self control, tugging her shirt down where House has been fingering the material.

The sudden loss of bodily contact on all sides makes Wilson feels strangely bereft as they make their way down the short walk to Cuddy's bedroom. It seems strangely quiet and impersonal in there, her bed made neatly and a stuffed bear sitting in the middle of the double pillows which she snatches away with a small embarrassed laugh to herself before throwing it onto a chair. House, possibly the one who needs it most, throws his cane after the stuffed bear and drops himself onto the bed like a stone; Wilson smiles at Cuddy and she smiles back, oddly nervous in the new atmosphere and smoothing her skirt down as though this was some formal dinner party.

Wilson almost expects her to start asking if either of them want drinks.

"Is this going to be a one man show, or something?" House eventually asks, leaning up on his elbows. Wilson admires him for being so calm in such odd circumstances and then (uncomfortably) remembers that House has sex with strangers on a regular basis and so is probably much more at home with this sort of thing. Before anyone can answer, House starts popping the buttons on his fly and waggles his eyebrows suggestively. "A little help here?"

Cuddy (who has clearly _not_ been recently reminded of House's love of prostitutes) gets onto the bed and sits somewhat demurely next to House, facing him and letting her fingers wander idly over his, still resting on his buttons. Wilson watches as House leans up even further and pushes her pencil skirt up over her thighs in what Wilson can only describe as a practised fashion and then pulls her onto his lap. The two of them are both silently careful about House's thigh, Cuddy resting most of her weight sideways on his left side and then watching his fingers as they trail up, away from his own buttons and coming to rest on the set that are on her shirt.

House makes a show of it, undoing each one carefully with one hand (a trick Wilson doubts he could manage himself) and then Cuddy helps him get the shirt off altogether, the silk falling in a pool like water on the duvet beside them. Wilson feels his dick harden uncomfortably in the confines of his pants as he watches House look up at Cuddy with the most innocent eyes Wilson has ever seen him master and then lean forward to start kissing the soft skin of her breasts at her cleavage. She moans with what sounds like relief and Wilson almost joins in with her, watching House's lips leave wet trails all over her skin.

Shamelessly, she unhooks her bra for him and removes it altogether, giving him better access and then moaning harder as his lips close over a nipple, sucking it in and making it hard, causing her to buck against him with pleasure.

Though Wilson feels like he can't take his eyes off them, off the way she moves against him and off House's lips that can only really be described as mesmerising, his fingers are also itching to touch, to join in. Moving to the bed, he positions himself behind Cuddy, kneeling so that his front is pressed against her back and pushes her hair over one shoulder, mirroring House did in the hallway outside and kisses the back of her neck.

Her free hand (the one that isn't kneading the bulge in House's jeans between her thighs, Wilson sees over her shoulder) goes back around him, pulling him closer and then resting warmly on his hip, moving Wilson in time with her as she moves against House, reacting to the things his lips are doing to her breasts. 

When Wilson leaves a tiny bite at the nape of her neck, Cuddy groans, closing her fingers tightly on his hip. "Yes," she says, though really she sort of moans it and Wilson bites down again, just for the reaction. When he feels confident enough to let his hands move downwards, he finds her thighs (completely exposed where House has hitched her skirt up so high it's really more of a belt now) and lets his nails run lightly over the soft skin, feeling her shiver against him. Exhaling loudly against the curve of her neck, he finds the thin material of her thong and pushes it aside as best he can, briefly embarrassed by his own reaction to finding how wet she is, rocking against her and pushing his fingers gently inside her.

Cuddy starts saying something incomprehensible that he takes to be relief and desperation and actually something rather filthy until Wilson feels House's fingers join his in the soft, wet space between her thighs. For a moment they are both inside her (making Wilson flush with heat all over his body, suddenly desperate to remove his own clothes) and then Wilson moves his fingers outwards and up, finding her clit and rubbing against her, hearing her gasp.

Still biting gently on her neck Wilson hears (through the sound of Cuddy moaning, with increasing speed and volume) possibly the hottest thing he's ever encountered; House is talking to her in a low voice, telling her to come for them, telling her he is going to watch her and then fuck her when she is finished. Wilson fears briefly that the sound of it, that the sound of House's low voice talking her on will make him come right here and now, ruining not only his reputation but also one of the hottest moments of his life. He feels Cuddy buck against him, rubs her faster and listens to her repeat, 'House, House,' breathlessly until she comes, grasping onto Wilson's hip. He suspects he'll have nail marks there for the next two weeks.

When she collapses against him, Wilson glances at House and finds him looking suitably pleased with himself. "Next?" he says, and Wilson tries desperately not to smile. He shares an exhausted, broken kiss with Cuddy until she shifts (carefully, still wary of causing House pain) and takes the space on the bed next to him. In her sated, relaxed state she lies down and looks at the pair of them as though this is the most comfortable thing she's ever done before she shimmies out of her skirt and panties. 

Wilson is so busy watching her, eyes trained on the exposed curves and soft rise of her breasts that he doesn't realise for a moment that House is tugging on his tie. When he sees, he lets himself be pulled down into a kiss, lying half on top of him, half next to him on the bed and for a moment they don't do anything other than rub against each other, occasionally gasping from the sensation. Then before Wilson realises what is happening, House is very physically undressing him, pushing him back onto the mattress and moving down, hovering just about Wilson's stomach.

"House, you don't have to - "

But somehow he never finishes that sentence, House's lips closing over his dick and sliding down in a way that is far too expert for this to be House's first time. Wilson groans, losing all sense of embarrassment or shame; he can't really bring himself to care if he's being loud, he's been watching the action for too long without anyone's hands on him to feel like he needs to draw this out. 

Wilson buries his hands in House's hair, tries to restrain himself from bucking up into the warm mouth covering him and then he opens his eyes to find Cuddy leaning up on her elbow, watching him. She is smiling like she knows exactly that House's ministrations can do to a person and then she leans over to kiss him, catching Wilson's groans with her lips.

It feels like sensory overload, Cuddy's fingernails scratching lightly down his chest and House's tongue running around the head of his dick before taking him back in as far as he can and sucking in the most noisy, filthy way. 

Wilson comes without realising he is going to, gasping into Cuddy's mouth. He loses sense of whose mouth is whose but realises he must be kissing House when he tastes himself on the tongue that runs over his bruised, swollen lips.

Wilson doesn't pass out and he's fairly sure he doesn't sleep but he misses the next few moments somehow, hears briefly the ripping of a condom packet and feels people shifting around on the bed. When he turns over onto his side, eyes heavy and weighted, he sees House fucking Cuddy, biting down on her neck and dipping his head to mouth damply at her breasts. Wilson realises vaguely that she is panting again, repeating a filthy litany of things that would make her blush scarlet in the daytime, away from the bubble they seem to have created within this bedroom. He is feeling too lazy to do anything but watch but the sight is more than enough to give him fodder for fantasies for at least the next few months. House is panting too, gasping occasionally when Cuddy groans with obvious pleasure. 

She comes first, grasping for House's mouth with her own, their lips barely brushing and the image is almost too hot for Wilson to watch; the light sheen of sweat covering Cuddy's body is indecent.

Watching House about to come, Wilson pulls himself into a half sitting position and leans over to kiss him; has a sudden desire to touch. The kiss is completely sloppy and out of sync but Wilson feels something tingle right down his spine when House whispers, "Wilson," into his mouth as he comes inside Cuddy.

\---------------------

There is a hand on Wilson's waist, though he isn't sure whose it is. When he's pulled firmly back against a pair of hard hips he realises its House, lets himself be bitten on the shoulder in a slightly more than friendly manner.

Cuddy is asleep, chest rising and falling slowly and Wilson half wishes he was with her, lost in the land of sleep. The other half of him is very glad that he can feel House running a lazy hand up and down his thigh, dipping in slightly at the crease.

"D'you think she's going to sack us?" House asks. Wilson smiles.

"Yes. And then she'll re-employ us as sex slaves."

He feels House bite his ear and tug gently. "She'll feed us nothing but oysters and Viagra."

"Is this your fantasy or real life?"

House smirks into his shoulder. "You make a whining noise like a seal when you're having sex."

Wilson feels himself blush even though he knows it isn't true. "Shut up, House."

"It's like a distressed seal calling for their mate."

"You're an ass."

"I'm an ass who gives good head."

And then Wilson flushes again, heat prickling all over his skin as House tugs once more at his ear. He can't deny that, and he certainly can't hold back the memory of House's mouth on him, hot and slick and clever.

Spurred on the memory and the pit of warmth growing in his stomach, Wilson turns over, his lips instinctively finding House's triumphant smile.


End file.
